


Ruin Me

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), traintracks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Shower Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/traintracks/pseuds/traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Potter seems even more infuriating lately than usual.  It takes Draco a little time to figure out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruin Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/gifts).



> Written for Kinky Kristmas, 2013.

Potter ruined everything.

All the time.

For instance, he'd spilled his potion all over the floor the other day and gotten Bulgeye on Draco's new dragonhide shoes.

Which wasn't the worse part. The worst part was that he'd spent the better part of ten minutes under Draco's table on his hands and knees cleaning it up, and because it was a timed test, Draco had to suffer him there, bumping into his legs, bumping his own head, cursing, blinking up at Draco from below, etc. All while Draco worked to mix the perfect Everlasting Elixir.

Potter.

What an idiot.

It was because of Potter and his bad potion and equally bad clean-up skills, not to mention his insipid crawling around and his blinking green eyes and stupid head-banging, that Draco received an Acceptable and barely that.

Bloody Harry Potter.

xX

He ruined _everything_.

It shouldn't have been possible for Divination to get any more agonizing, but leave it to Potter.

Since Weasley got himself confined to the hospital wing after a Knee-Reversal Hex backfired on him in Defense, Potter had been without a partner, and Trelawney, the batty old nutter, had assigned the partnerless Potter to Draco.

And while it was true that blame could also be lain at either Weasley's incompetent feet or Trelawney's, Draco preferred to fault Potter. Because it was mostly Potter.

It was always Potter.

And then the git had proceeded to read him. That _was_ the assignment, but Draco still resented the fuck out of it.

As instructed, Potter took Draco's hands in his own and turned them palm up. Draco's breath caught in his chest, his naked palms feeling more vulnerable in Potter's hands than standing starkers in front of the entire class would have been.

Potter's hands were warm. Like they'd been shoved in his pockets for a long time or he'd cupped them around a steaming mug of tea.

Draco hoped it had been tea. He wanted nothing to do with where Potter's hands had been otherwise.

"Hmm," Potter said, staring at Draco's twitching hands. "Interesting."

"What?" Draco spat out, his cheeks flaming.

Potter leaned down, peering closely at Draco's hands. "This here," he said, and he brushed his thumb over the line on Draco's palm that dipped in a slope from under his index finger, through the center of his palm, finally curving back out toward his thumb.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd begun to sweat.

"What," he gritted out.

Potter stared at Draco's hands a long time. It took monumental strength for Draco to keep from making fists. Potter's middle finger traced the line again. Lightly.

So lightly.

Back and forth.

Draco shivered hard.

His trousers had become embarrassingly...restrictive.

Draco firmed his jaw and waited, feeling like he could combust at any moment under Potter's intense scrutiny of one line on his hand.

"Nothing," Potter said finally. "I thought it was something else."

Draco snatched his hands away and shoved them beneath the table.

"Give me yours then," Draco said, intending to get some form of revenge. An Itchy Fingers hex might just do the trick, he thought.

But then Trelawney sing-songed, "Now the eyes, young Divinators. STARE into the EYES of the person across the table and SENSE their destiny. _FEEL_ the divine whispering to you from their minds through the glimpse of the soul through the windows of their heart. Yes. Begin now, please, students."

Draco huffed.

Potter smirked. He leaned forward. He leaned in close. Potter stared into Draco's blinking eyes. He brought his chair in close. Their knees bumped.

"Hmm," he said again.

"Oh, come off it, you dolt," Draco said, starting to lean back in his chair.

But Potter's hand shot out and took his arm, preventing his retreat.

"Look at me," Potter said.

When Draco did, he realized the smirk was gone. Potter's own eyes were round behind his glasses. He blinked, and Draco swallowed, not looking away.

"What," he said again, frustrated with how quiet it came out this time.

Potter leaned in still more.

Then still more.

They were centimeters apart. Draco could feel Potter's breath. They looked between each other's eyes. Draco didn't move a muscle.

"You have..." Potter said in a near-whisper. "You have..."

"I have what," Draco croaked.

Potter's eyes glowed luminescent. They sparkled. His breath was sweet like lemon drops. He was so near now that it came out in little lemony huffs against Draco's lips.

"You have pretty eyes, Malfoy," Potter murmured.

Then his gaze dropped to Draco's mouth, and Potter tilted his head and--

Draco pulled back hard, wrenching himself out of Potter's grasp, away from his penetrating gaze.

"What are you on about?" Draco huffed. "What the hell?"

Potter just smiled at him. He blinked and he smiled and Draco knocked over his chair in his haste to stand, and his chair knocked into Seamus Finnigan, and Seamus Finnigan leaped up like a snake had bitten him, and he ran into the professor, and she fell into a table and hit her head.

When all was said and done, Draco came away with detention.

And though Potter had the wherewithal to appear regretful, his smirk entirely gone, it didn't matter one bit to Draco. For all he knew, Potter had planned the whole thing.

Because Potter was the ruination of everything right and true.

xX

He even -- he _especially_ \-- ruined Quidditch.

Never mind that as they'd flown side by side, it had been Draco's boot that connected with Potter's broom and set him off course for the heartbeat Draco needed to catch the Snitch.

Draco's fingers had reached and reached and _reached_ , going so far as to gently fondle the Snitch's little flutterly wings when--

_SWOOP!_

Potter had flown _underneath_ Draco's broom, dipping and twirling until he was face up, legs clinging to his Firebolt and robes dragging the ground he was so close to crashing.

And as Draco watched, horrified, Potter swiped the Snitch from Draco's very fingertips, looked up at Draco above him, winked, and then barrel-rolled away with the win.

Sodding bloody Harry fucking Potter.

Adding insult to injury, Potter's wind sheer sent Draco a hair too far to the right, and he bumped the stands just enough to send him careening into the pitch sand at too many kilometers per hour.

"Ummph!" Draco grunted as he impacted and then rolled off his broom.

The sand stuck to his sweat, and by the time the stands full of Gryffindors swarmed Potter and held him aloft in victory, Draco was nearly indistinguishable from a ball of mud.

Draco lay there a bit, staring up into the pristine November sky, contemplating his life. He lay there until Potter was set once again onto his feet. Until Draco's teammates had cleared the pitch without him. Until Madam Pomfrey came over and asked him if he needed to spend some time in the hospital wing.

"I'm fine," he muttered, rising slowly.

The stands were all but empty. The cheering had faded away.

Draco dragged his bruised body toward the showers only to meet Barnibus Flint on the way out.

"They're broken," he informed.

"What?"

"The showers are all broken," Flint sighed. "Which is too bad, 'cause you look like you could really use one, Draco."

"Piss off," Draco spat.

Flint gave him a dirty look, which wasn't all that different from his normal face.

Draco watched his teammates dragging their brooms back toward the shed and then trudging back to the school.

There was no way Draco was showing up there looking like this, though. He decided to try Ravenclaw's showers only to be flummoxed by their state of disrepair as well. Same with Hufflepuff.

Which left...

"Bollocks," Draco huffed.

He snuck toward the entrance to the Gryffindor locker room and was relieved by the silence. He peeked around the corner and saw that it was nicely deserted. He tested the water to find it working properly, and he didn't even care why. He only cared about getting clean and letting the hot water batter his sore muscles loose again.

So he shucked off his Quidditch robes and the rest of his clothes, wincing at his bruised ribs. Then he stepped under the heavenly spray with an audible groan. The water sluiced over him, taking the dirt and sand and sweat and grime down the drain with it. Draco closed his eyes and began to soap himself.

He had a hand in his armpit when he heard another set of robes drop to the floor behind him.

He turned his head to see Potter stripping his shirt over his head and doffing trousers and pants.

"What are you--?" Draco began.

"Did you get lost?" Potter asked him, naked now.

Draco's eyes dropped to his chest, the bit of black hair down the middle, his tapered stomach...

Draco turned back into the spray, his one and only goal now to get as clean as possible as quickly as he could.

Potter stepped up to the showerhead next to Draco's own. There had to be five other ones, each successively farther away.

"Budge up," Potter said, elbowing Draco's arm and then turning on his water.

Draco stared at his profile.

The gall!

The _git_!

Potter began to soap up his chest, running the bar over shoulders, neck, down his ribs and stomach... He turned his head and saw Draco watching him. He lifted an arm, soaped under there, and smiled.

Potter smiled at him.

Whilst nude.

Whilst very, very wet.

And nude.

Draco turned back to face the wall. It was a nice wall. A lovely wall. The water looked lovely and nice as it dripped down the wall.

Oh God...

Draco began to wash himself furiously, careful not to turn his back on Potter or turn toward him either one. He'd Transfigure something into a wall to put between them if it wouldn't make him look like a cowardly little ponce who couldn't take the sight of Potter's--

Potter chuckled, and Draco couldn't help glancing his way.

"Are you going for some Roughest Wash award I don't know about, Malfoy?"

"Sod off," Draco told him. And then he'd meant to look down and away. It just so happened that looking down was not the best idea.

Potter's cock was thick and swollen against his thigh. Not hard. But not...not. The mushroom crown of it blushed dusky pink. The hair around the base of the shaft was dark and wet. His bollocks were heavy and plump.

Draco blinked, and his eyes shot back up to Potter's to see if he'd seen Draco seeing. But Potter happily washed away, his gaze on the wall in front of him, a slight smile curving his lips.

Draco did _not_ take a glimpse of Potter's fit arse on his way back to staring at the wall.

But once he _was_ staring at the wall, he debated whether washing his own bits was worth it under the circumstances or if he should just rinse and run.

No sooner had he decided to forgo both crotch and arse than Potter unceremoniously splashed him in the face.

Draco sputtered. "What the fuck, Potter?"

Potter stood there smirking at him, running the bar of soap in circles over his belly. He said nothing.

"Prat," Draco muttered, turning away again.

_SPLASH!_

Draco turned, didn't think, and shoved Potter in the shoulder. He stumbled back and dropped his soap, but his smile widened.

And his cock...

Merlin's pants.

It had reared up toward his stomach but appeared too heavy to quite get there. It was rosy and thick and _perfect_.

Draco blinked.

Potter looked at him sideways. His gaze traveled down Draco's body and then back up. He splashed him again.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?" Draco fumed.

Potter splashed him once more.

Draco shoved again.

Potter slapped at Draco's side, but before he could snatch his hand away, Draco grabbed it and pushed Potter up against the wet tile wall.

Potter gasped. His eyes somehow both twinkled and darkened. Draco had his wrist pinned to the wall, his other hand on Potter's shoulder, and Potter didn't fight him at all.

He just stood there, looked deeply into Draco's eyes, and said, "That all you got, Malfoy?"

Draco's jaw tightened. He was angry at he didn't know what. He was... He was bloody arsed! He was just trying to take a bloody shower in peace. After a loss. That Potter caused. Potter blinked and smiled at him, and it pissed Draco off, so he grabbed Potter's other wrist and pinned it to the wall, too.

Potter inhaled, his gaze dropping to Draco's lips. He hooked his leg around Draco's thigh suddenly and pulled him in with it. Hard.

And then their cocks were pressed together, mashed between one another's bodies, and Draco looked at Potter with wide, shocked eyes.

"Come on, Malfoy," Potter goaded quietly. He didn't have to be loud. His mouth was right there.

"Come on," he said again.

His cock was warm and hard, and he moved his hips a little. Just a little. It rubbed their hard cocks together. Draco stifled a plaintive-sounding groan.

"Come on," Potter whispered. He was staring at Draco's lips.

His hips rocked again, sending hard fire up Draco's veins.

"Come on, Malfoy."

Draco could stand it no longer. He smashed his lips to Potter's and shut him right up.

To Draco's utter horror, Potter parted his lips readily. And then Draco's tongue was in his mouth, and he didn't know what he was doing; he just plunged his tongue inside that warm, pliant mouth, tasting hot water and lemon drops.

His _tongue_ was touching Potter's, for Merlin's sake!

Potter groaned a little, and he rolled his hips again against Draco's, so Draco ground his hips against Potter's to get that friction back again, and there was no stopping after that.

He wouldn't have stopped for the bloody world and all the gold and infamy in it.

Draco thrust his hips against Potter, and Potter gasped away from the kiss only to moan, his eyes squeezing shut.

Draco's hands tightened around Potter's wrists as he thrust. Potter's hips rolled liquidly to meet him, and when he opened his eyes once more...

....he smiled.

It hit hard and fast. His bollocks pulled up, and in the next moment Draco started coming all over Potter's warm, muscular stomach. He came over Potter's bouncing cock. He came and came and came, whining and shutting his eyes on it, losing rhythm.

He was coming on Harry Potter.

"Let go," Potter said, and without thinking, Draco did, his fingers loosening reflexively.

And then Potter grabbed Draco's hip, holding him close. He started fisting his own prick, fast and slippery between them.

He was getting himself off with Draco's spunk for slick.

They both looked down and watched it happen, Potter's come spurting out, his shivery groans wet and close.

Potter was coming on _him_.

Because of him.

Draco licked his lips. Potter blinked up and they met one another's eyes.

"About bloody time," Potter panted.

Then he wrapped his hand around the back of Draco's neck. He pulled him in and kissed him, and while he kissed him, he moved them so that it was Draco's back against the tile. His tongue pushed tender and coaxing into Draco's mouth, mischievous and unapologetic.

Potter stepped back finally. He ducked his head under the spray one last time, rinsing the come off his body. Then he turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and gave himself a quick dry, and picked up his clothes.

He dressed quickly with nary a glance back at Draco standing there wet and stunned.

But before he left, he did look. He looked and again he smiled. He said, "See you, Malfoy," and then turned, waved his wand in the air, doing Merlin knew what, and walked out.

He left Draco in wet ruins behind him.

xX

 

It was late.

The false, magical moonlight swept in through the sheers and paled the wan green light of the Slytherin dungeon dormitory. It had been snowing all day, but inside Draco's bed it was warm.

Still, Draco was unable to sleep. He pulled at his covers and sighed.

"Be quiet," Potter's voice came from the foot of his bed suddenly. "Don't want to wake them."

Draco quickly quelled the smile that wanted to smear itself stupid across his face. He turned and half sat up, checking the other beds to make sure his mates were fast asleep.

Potter crawled into the bed, over him, forcing him to lie back. Potter kissed him. He kissed him rough and sweet, like he'd been dying to do so. It _had_ been nearly a week since they'd met for a long snog after Defense that day. Even longer for more than snogging.

"Mmm," Draco hummed, lying back.

"Quiet or you'll ruin everything, you mouthy trollop," Potter whispered against his lips. Then he pulled back enough for Draco to see the telling sparkle in his eyes.

"I'll be quiet if you will," Draco challenged.

Potter smirked and then started kissing his way down Draco's body.

Draco lay back in the green silk of his bed. He let Potter drag his pajama trousers down to his knees. He let Potter mouth around his growing erection. He let Potter suck his cock slowly, his mouth hot and gentle.

And when he came, Draco didn't utter a sound. He just breathed and made a fist in Potter's hair, and rolled his hips into it, and closed his eyes.

He didn't want to lose to Potter in a challenge after all.

And he didn't want to ruin it.

Draco's fingers loosened as he caught his breath.

Potter let go of Draco's prick, panting. He turned his lips to find the waiting palm of Draco's hand...

And Draco smiled.


End file.
